Sucks to Go to Cabo in a Wheelchair

For the past four consecutive winters, I’ve been blessed to visit Cabo San Lucas, Mexico with a group of family and friends. Through our collective experience, we’ve learned which bars and restaurants we like the most and how best to structure our days to capitalize on our time away from the frigid Nebraska winter.

This year, as I was boarding a flight from Phoenix to Cabo, a guy who was pre-boarding with me and riding a wheelchair, like me, looked me in the eyes and said, “It sucks to go to Cabo in a wheelchair.” He said it in good humor and with a smile on his face, but it still surprised me, because that’s not the way my mind works – anymore.

I suppose it’s from the nearly five decades of living with physical imperfection, but for the most part, I’ve been able to mute the part of my brain that spews negativity and resentment, and to turn up the volume on the part that broadcasts positivity and gratitude. Because of this, when I hear a comment like what I heard on the plane, my mind swats it away, like a pesky fly.

It wasn’t aways this way though. Readers of this blog and those who have known me for more than ten years know that, despite an almost religious commitment to exercise, my mobility has slowly declined over the past thirty years. I often say that I’m a 52-year-old in an 82-year-old body, and that keeps me from doing a lot of things I once did. In my teens and 20s, I didn’t run marathons or compete in Mr. Universe, but I did most everything my peers did – golfing, biking, etc. Though I would like to, I can’t do that stuff now. I use a wheelchair for uncertain terrain or long walks, like those required in an airport, and I haven’t golfed in more than twenty years. Still, I count my blessings daily.

For one, I’ve been fortunate that my decline in mobility has been slow and mostly gradual. That’s enabled me to work things out in my head, before they come out of my mouth, and to adjust my expectations and attitude accordingly. I don’t sit home and stew because I can’t golf any more. Instead, I go to the course, jump on a cart, maybe have a beer, and watch my friends spend a lot of money getting angry and frustrated.

Another blessing I enjoy is the support of incredible friends and family who encourage me and enable me to experience as much of life as possible. Just this past November, I let a group of my gym friends convince me that a trip to Lambeau Field in Green Bay to watch a Packers game was possible and probably even enjoyable. With their help, it was both. Had they not encouraged me and gone out of their way to help me, it would been an experience I missed. Life is too short to miss experiences, like going to Cabo with my wife and good friends.

I’m pretty sure that my fellow Cabo-bound, wheelchair-riding passenger, though older than me, was new to limited mobility, and that he was likely using humor to deal with his reality. I remember feeling and reacting this way. I’d focus on the struggles and limitations of the journey, rather than the upcoming week of leisure. I’d worry about what others thought of me, rather than being grateful for those helping and encouraging me.

When I heard, “it sucks to go to Cabo in a wheelchair,” I didn’t even have to think. Because I’ve programmed my mind, my response was already loaded and ready to fire. I simply replied, “it sucks a lot more not to go to Cabo.” I could tell that wasn’t the response he expected, but he still smiled widely and said, “I like the way you think.” My point already proven, I just smiled back and quietly whispered to myself, “I do too.”